The Race That's Inside
by Pedellea
Summary: Dean is about done with his time, and Sam is still scrambling to save him. A vignette of the last days.


**TITLE**: The Race That's Inside  
**AUTHOR**: Pedellea  
**DATE**: January 11, 2008  
**RATING**: PG or K+  
**SUMMARY**: Dean is about done with his time, and Sam is still determined to save him. A vignette of the last days.  
**SPOILERS**: All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 2  
**DISCLAIMER**: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and Warner Brothers Television.  
**AUTHOR'S NOTES**: The title comes from a Mat Kearney song, "In the Middle", where he sings "crack a smile just to hide the race that's inside". My thoughts drifted to our favourite Winchester boys, and out came a piece that explored how the boys would handle Dean's "last days". Feedback is much appreciated!

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**THE RACE THAT'S INSIDE**  
By Pedellea

It's that bone-crushing weariness that is pushing him under, one that's been plaguing him lately, and he contemplates if it's a sign that this is it for him.

He's wanted to give up before, and he's told his brother as much. The deal just stamped on an expiry date. There's almost relief, except for that damned uncertainty of how it'll all unfold.

"You okay?," his little brother asks. Dean unfurrows his brows and glances at Sam. Always that concerned, knitted brow etched on his face.

Dean cracks a smile to hide the rumblings in his mind, as he usually does.

"Yeah. Just tired."  
"Should I find a motel?"  
"Nah. Car's fine. Keep driving."

He hears Sam sigh, long and slow. Dean, usually one to crack a girl joke in moments like this, decides to close his eyes instead.

Maybe he shouldn't close his eyes, he thinks. A part of his mind screams at him to pay attention, to savour these last days he has with Sam. But a part of him couldn't care less.

You can only fight so many battles in your life. And in his book, the biggest battle has already been won: he brought Sam back to life. His father would have been proud.

Right?

"Dean?"

He pries his heavy lids open and realizes that they've stopped in the gravel strip and that he had dozed off. Maybe they've been here long, maybe not. He doesn't know and doesn't really care.

He looks over to see that damn wet stuff cascading down his brother's face, and he doesn't know whether to laugh at him or join him. He settles for a grunt and looks away, too tired to do either.

"I've tried everything," Sam admits after a while.  
"Hmm?"  
"I've tried it all. Bobby's been helping me, and Ellen and Missouri too, but we've got nothing. Nothing at all, Dean. How... how the hell am I...?"

Instead of finishing the sentence, Sam lets out a strangled sigh and buries his face in his palms with a frustrated scream, furiously rubbing the tears off his face. Dean sits up on the passenger side, a familiar crush catching his heart and constricting his throat. _Damn_ it. This deal was supposed to be a _good_ thing.

It was a good minute before Dean clears his throat a little to speak up.

"I..."

That's all he manages because what the hell could you say to a man desperate for a hope that you really didn't want to come true? Still, Sam looks up at him, expectant, _pleading_ for an answer that would tell him everything would work out. Dean had to turn away from his intent brown eyes. It just _hurt_.

Sam lets out a shaky sigh, seemingly resigned.

"Damn you, Dean," he murmurs under his breath, starting the engine again.  
"What?"

Sam glares at him now, beyond irritated at the situation. But there are no words to be said. Dean decides to prod on, anger also bubbling up. _Damn him_ for trying so hard.

"What did you say?"  
"I said '_Damn. You. Dean._' You're so _frickin'_ selfish!"  
"And have we not established that before?"  
"Yeah, but..."

Again, Sam is lost for words. He throws the Impala into gear instead, so viciously that Dean winces for his baby, and with a resolute stare ahead, Sam peals onto the road.

Dean steals a glance at his brother, and grips the seat, watching the trees, street signs, and the odd car whirl by at a dizzying speed. Five minutes of throttling, and Dean clears his throat again.

"You want to slow down?"  
"For what?"  
"For, I dunno, _safety_?"

_Yours, little bro_, Dean adds in his mind. Sam scoffs harshly as he pulls a sharp right. Dean grips his seat a little harder so his head doesn't smash against the window. The kid is pissed.

"Well, we're all gonna die anyway, so who the _frick_ cares?"

This would be so much simpler if Sam would just accept the fact that Dean traded his life for Sam's. _Goddamned Winchester stubbornness_. Dean sighs, and Sam, quite hypersensitive at this point, throws him the cut eye.

"You got something to say?"  
"No, l'il bro, I've got nothin' to say."  
"Go 'head, just say it. Just say, 'Sammy, I did this for you. And so what if I'm selfish, Sammy? You'll just have to deal with it... _when I'm dead.'_"

Sam suddenly slams on the brakes, and Dean throws his hands in front of him to save his head from cracking on the windshield. They both jolt backwards from the force.

Sam stares beyond the windshield, _incredibly_ lost, and murmurs quietly with a wavering voice. "And you'd say, 'It's not your fault. I chose this myself.' But how the hell is it not my fault, Dean? I'm the one who got myself killed in the first place. I'm the one that drove you into that deal. You should've... should've let dead things _stay_ dead. You said it yourself."

Dean flinches noticeably at "dead things". Sam was not a _thing_. Sam was _the_ person he _had_ to protect, keep alive at all costs, come _hell_ or high water. Dead Sam should _never_ stay dead, and he saw to it.

There are no words still, so Dean keeps his head down, wrinkling his nose at the sting in his nostrils, not willing to spill _anything_ from his face. He sniffs a little.

"What am I going to do, Dean? Huh?"

He could very well tell his brother to stop trying so hard like the thousand times he'd done before, but Dean doesn't rebut, doesn't answer. He was just too damned _tired_ of giving answers.

"_Tell_ me! What the _hell_ am I gonna do?"

After a beat, Dean musters up the courage to face Sam, stoic and composed. Sam has that _damned_ pleading look again. He inhaled a deep breath and exhaled, "I dunno, little brother."

Sam's eyes drop right to the floor, and the awful, awkward silence threatens to blow them apart.

It's times like these that Dean wants to just _run_. Didn't care where to. Didn't care if dad suddenly popped up from the beyond and gave him an icy glower for leaving his brother behind. Didn't care at all.

The lock on the car door suddenly becomes the most interesting alternate to running, because he figures that running away from Sam now wasn't the fairest decision to make since he already decided to _die_ in his place. So Dean pulls the lock up, pushes it down, pulls it up, pushes it down, all the while eyeing the door handle. Locked, unlocked. Locked, unlocked. Locked...

Sam throws his car door open and scrambles out wordlessly. Dean stops and heaves a slow sigh, not knowing if he should run and stop his brother or to give him time alone. Finally, the ingrained obligation in him drives him to pull open the passenger side door, and by the time he steps out, Sam has disappeared into the fog that envelopes the night. The familiar fear of losing Sam creeps in.

"Sam!"

He keeps his voice from exploding into concern, but after twenty-four years of training to protect Sam at all costs, it's a little hard to contain. Dean regroups some, steps over to the driver's side and tries again.

"Sam, if you ain't turning back, then I'm takin' off without you!"

He pulls the door open with a bit of force, making sure that it makes all the racket that it can. Still, no response.

"Sam, I'm getting in the car!"

Dean waits for an answer, but none comes. Leaning on the door frame, he closes his tired eyes, willing to take a nice hot shower, willing to crawl into a warm bed, willing for this all to go away. But the drilled-in instinct to find and protect his brother keeps him on edge, so, tired as he was with this whole damned fight, he calls out one last time.

"_Sam!!!"_

Dean looks down to see his hands shake ever so slightly from the frustration and fear. He grips the door frame again and they still.

At that moment, he hears - finally - the _crunch-crunch_ of gravel that slowly moves closer to him, and he silently thanks the heavens that it won't take any acrobatic tricks to get his brother back this time.

Sam's face appears in the fog a short while later with the trademark puppy dog look, complete with tears streaking his face. He speaks up tonelessly.

"Thought you were getting in the car. Takin' off without me."

Dean only shrugs and stares at his brother a little longer, to make sure he's intact, before slipping into the driver's side. He hears Sam sigh for the billionth time before he joins his brother in the car.

He steals a quick glance at Sam as he starts the Impala. Sam's got his eyes trained in him, a complex mixture of anger, concern, annoyance, frustration, hopelessness all palpable on his face.

"Sam, quit staring at me."

Dean feels a fiery heat from Sam's stare for a moment longer, and there's familiar squeak of leather as he turns his head away to the window. Dean puts the car in drive and pulls off the gravel strip.

There are no words to be said for the rest of the night, but their thoughts race on.

**THE END**

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Comments and constructive criticism all welcome. Thanks for reading! 


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